


oh the mighty arms of atlas

by IssyLily



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV), The Bane Chronicles - Sarah Rees Brennan & Cassandra Clare & Maureen Johnson
Genre: M/M, Older Magnus and Alec, Super!Angst, They've been together like 10 years give or take, a bad one, basically make-up drama, magnus runs off to paris, oooh, they have a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 11:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IssyLily/pseuds/IssyLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The fight had been bitter and hostile and worst of all lengthy – after a while, they traversed onto other subjects, picking at all the little imperfections between them, until their words devolved into petty insults without meaning but with damnable consequence. Alec had told him he couldn't believe anyone so selfish could have lived so long, and Magnus had left."</p><p>Magnus and Alec don't often fight, but when they do, they do it properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh the mighty arms of atlas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A.K.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A.K.).



“Where have you been?” Alec asked curtly, not taking his eyes off of his phone, knowing that to do so would betray his senseless panic. In his hand was where he had pummelled the brunt of his worry, with almost fifty texts sent to Isabelle, Jace, Clary, Simon, Catarina, and even his parents in a desperate bid to find his boyfriend. He hadn't bothered to try and call Magnus – by the Angel he was concerned about him, but even he was too stubborn and proud to speak first. He wouldn't have picked up anyway – he never did when they got like this.

“I was out Alec,” Magnus snapped back, not even bothering to temper his tone.

Although he had hated it to start with, Alec could no longer bear it when Magnus refrained from using his whole name. He still physically squirmed when his mother used it, but having heard it groaned in a flurry of breathless moans, called out amidst some pretty filthy swear words, and whispered into his ear in the dead of night, he had no objections to being called Alexander anymore. He only got the short version when Magnus was _being_ short with him.

He couldn't recall how their argument had begun, only that it had quickly spiralled into shouts, bellows, broken plates, and Magnus storming out of the front door. Since then, three whole days had passed, and Alec had experienced every emotion on the spectrum, from rage, to humiliation, to anxiety, back to fury, and then right down to misery. He and Magnus did not argue often, but when they did, it was done properly.

“If you're not going to talk to me Magnus, then you might as well go back to where you've been hiding for the past few days,” Alec said, trying to keep his voice mild, almost carefree. It was stupid – they both knew this wasn't something to be glossed over – but it helped him to keep on top of the rollicking waves of broiling anger and quiet forgiveness he was riding.

“I was in Paris,” Magnus hissed in reply, his words imbued with the razor sharp sting of a Ravener Demon.

That would be why no one knew where he was, Alec pondered silently. He could've tracked him using his bond with Jace, but there had been no point. It was only when he realised the apartment was empty for the third day that he had begun to freak; until then, he had acknowledged that they both needed their space.

It was the same argument they had had a thousand times over. Magnus had been called to the Institute because Alec couldn't even make the trek home – he had been badly burned during a fight with a rogue Warlock who had summoned Abaddon; what Jace had shouted down the phone at him did not even begin to describe the damage. Upon entering the infirmary and desperately seeking the familiar face of the man he loved, Magnus was horrified when he found it; he could see the bone of Alec's eye socket, the charred flesh of his lips, the scorched skin where his eyebrows had once been. One of his hands was practically skeletal, for so much skin had been burned away.

It had taken all Magnus had within him to not vomit at the sight, to not bend down and weep. Instead, he ordered everyone out with a gusto in his voice that told them he was not to be trifled with, and set to work restoring Alexander Lightwood back to life. He hadn't died, but he was clinging so weakly to life that any lesser man would have let go. Magnus was proud of him for managing to hang on in such damning agony, but this was superseded by a rage more intense that the fire that had nearly killed his lover.

Why Alec? Why was it _always_ him?

Twenty four hours later, when Alec had returned home fully healed, they had exchanged words so ugly that even Magnus had flinched. He accused Alec of not caring enough about him to look after himself in battle – Alec had countered that Magnus had never accepted that being a Shadowhunter wasn't just a job, it was in his genes, in his blood. The fight had been bitter and hostile and worst of all lengthy – after a while, they traversed onto other subjects, picking at all the little imperfections between them, until their words devolved into petty insults without meaning but with damnable consequence. Alec had told him he couldn't believe anyone so selfish could have lived so long, and Magnus had left. It didn't matter that what Alec had said was true.

“Did you have a nice time?” Alec asked, and he could see Magnus' blood boiling beneath his skin. Truthfully, he was too exhausted to have this conversation, but he couldn't stand Magnus being so self-righteous. He hated that after all these years together, Magnus could still think Alec didn't care enough for him. Had he not proved it a thousand times over, that he loved him? Had he not done enough by going against his family, his race?

Magnus' response was so rude that Alec blanched in shock.

“That's great,” Alec replied, getting off the sofa and following Magnus through their open-plan loft into the kitchen, “Glad to know that even though you're old enough to have met Shakespeare, you're still capable of acting like a child.”

“If anyone's acting like a child, it's you Alexander,” Magnus blazed, turning to face him, “I might have run away, but you're the one who's constantly shirking their responsibilities to go and fight monsters in back alleys.”

“Fighting monsters is my responsibility Magnus, and you know it! I'm a Shadowhunter, it's what we do!” Alec said back, trying to keep his voice from becoming a shout.

“I mean your responsibility in this relationship,” Magnus retorted, “Your responsibility as a partner, your responsibility in keeping yourself alive.” He jabbed his finger towards Alec, dark blue sparks shooting out of it.

“Keeping myself alive for you?” Alec said sharply, knowing it wasn't what the Warlock meant, but unwilling to be wrong, “I'll die anyway and you won't have me then, so what difference does a few years make to you? Compared to you, I'm practically a mayfly, so what does it matter if I die now?”

He regretted the words instantly, like one does during most fights, but a small part of him was fragile enough to realise it was a genuine concern. Magnus had lived for so long now that Alec could be nothing more than a brief interlude. Undoubtedly, a brief interlude that he loved, but whilst Magnus would be the love of his life, Alec knew he was only one of the _many_ loves of Magnus' long, _long_ existence.

He regretted the words too when Magnus grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back against the kitchen cabinet, knocking his head against the handle, and his back against the unit.

“ _What does your life matter?_ Your life is _everything_ , Alexander,” Magnus seethed, his face mere centimetres from Alec's, “Don't you dare think for even a second that your being mortal makes you less important to me than I am to you. Don't you dare doubt me.”

It was then that Alec reminded himself that Magnus wasn't just a Warlock, but a High Warlock. Like the angels, by whom his blood had been blessed, Magnus was otherworldly, alien, decidedly inhuman and therefore almost godlike. He had seen more of the world than Alec ever would, lost more people than Alec would ever meet, created and destroyed like a deity who had plummeted to the earth. He was centuries old, and centuries wise, and Alec was talking back to him like a teenager.

That didn't stop the blood from coursing through his body though, from racing through his veins like an insane car chase from all of those Mundane films Simon forced them all to watch. The pain in his head had dulled slightly, but he resisted being enclosed against the unit, Magnus' hands clamped onto the marble on either side of him, trapping him there.

“I think you should back off Magnus,” Alec said harshly, challenging the Warlock to move away. Instead, Magnus' eyes turned from an aureate gold to a punishing brown, and he all but growled.

“I think you should shut up Alexander,” Magnus retaliated, before grabbing the thin fabric of the t-shirt Alec had first put on two days ago and yanking his lips against his own.

It was all-consuming, hungry, fierce, and Alec fought back as much as he could. He hooked his finger through a notch on Magnus' trousers, and wrapped the other around his slim waist, pressing against him. One of Magnus' hand was gripping tightly onto his hip, so tightly in fact that his nails were digging into the skin quite painfully, but the other was pressed against the kitchen cabinet, keeping them in place. Their teeth collided harshly against one another's, and Magnus bit against Alec's tongue when he tried to push back, drawing blood. The pressure of the Warlock's lips on his own was bruising, crushing, and Alec was overcome by a desire to see Magnus writhing below him. It seemed Magnus had the same issue because he stopped attacking Alec's mouth and bit down on his neck, sucking the skin there with a brutality that just stopped short of assault. Alec's knees turned to pudding and he sank a little against the unit, only just keeping himself propped up. He wasn't about to back down. But Magnus...by the Angel...oh _God._..

Done marking his territory, Magnus kissed Alec again with the ferocity of a man in battle. And he knew all the dirty tricks; pinning Alec's wrist to the counter-top, Magnus gripped Alec's lower lip between his teeth and ran his hand up his shirt, tracing scars left from runes-gone-by as he went. Alec couldn't hold out for much longer, so he quickly encompassed Magnus' lips with his own, forced his hands free, and wrapped his arms around the Warlock's body. They fought as they violently grazed each other's mouths, a dance across their apartment, until they reached their bedroom. Without thinking it through, Alec tore Magnus' shirt apart, buttons flying across the apartment, and Alec allowed Magnus to roughly pull his t-shirt over his head. They stopped for a moment, and it was all they both needed.

“That was a new shirt,” Magnus whispered, tugging at Alec's belt.

“Glad to know you were out shopping whilst I was here fretting,” Alec panted back, unable to catch his breath properly as he pressed kisses to Magnus' jaw and neck.

“Oh darling, I missed you too,” Magnus replied sorrowfully, his breath catching as Alec kissed the hollow of his throat and pushed him down onto the bed.

Jeans and trousers were quickly intermingled on the floor, underwear joining soon after, but the anger and vitriol with which they had started quickly dissipated into a raging passion that neither one of them could control. Magnus' nails raked down Alec's back, in the same way he had butchered his hips in the kitchen, but it was not done out of spite, but out of necessity as Alec took hold of him and dominated him. He clutched at the Nephilim's black-as-sin hair, and _oh_ , his thoughts were sinful. He started to say them out loud, gasping them into Alec's ear as he pushed inside of him, making the boy blush beetroot before Magnus' voice became completely hoarse and he lost the ability to speak. Alec looked him dead in the eyes as they both reached the point where pleasure became almost unbearable, and Magnus gave him a small smile, and clutched onto his muscular shoulders, letting out a magnificent moan as he came. Alec followed soon after, and Magnus watched his expression, the beautiful _o_ that his mouth formed, the serenity of his face as he finished.

Neither of them spoke for some time after. Magnus knew it was his fault – _mea culpa mea maxima culpa_ he thought sarcastically, because he was fine with being the cause of this – but it still didn't mean that everything was fine.

But he knew that it _would_ be. He didn't know how he could possibly have doubted it. Alec looked directly at him, his throat covered in angry marks that would linger for days, his lips slightly puffy and blood red, his hair tousled in a thousand different directions, and Magnus couldn't believe he had ever entertained the thought of staying away from this remarkable creature.

Before Alec could talk and break the peace, Magnus tentatively kissed him, so gently that for a minute he didn't know if their lips were actually touching. He moved slowly and softly against his mouth, with an infinite calm. Alec's lips were trembling beneath his, but he reciprocated gently, moving in an indeterminable rhythm. If their lovemaking was Ride of the Valkyries, then the aftermath was the Dance of the Swans. He could taste copper in Alec's mouth, could feel it on his teeth, but he brushed a hand against his hip, and sparks of his magic settled there to heal the scratches he had made earlier.

“Don't,” Alec said suddenly, breaking away, though he and Magnus remained flush against one another, “Don't get rid of them.”

His eyes were almost black.

Magnus suppressed a smile, remembering how Alec had first been when they had started exploring the sexual side of their relationship. He distinctly recalled Alec wearing a lot of polo necks, and insisting that Magnus get rid of the cuts he left on his back. Magnus had deliberately given him a few marks in public view just to tease him, knowing that he would fret like the innocent he had been. They had come so far together, and they would carry on going too.

“Wearing your battle wounds like a true warrior Alexander,” Magnus said huskily, tracing some of the marks on his neck. Alec shivered under his touch, and Magnus licked the sensitive skin, his tongue cool against Alec's scalding skin. As he reached the Shadowhunter's collar bone, Magnus murmured, “We really should fight more often.”

Alec stilled below him, and Magnus stopped, worried that perhaps the wounds they had made had gone deeper than he realised. He dragged himself away from Alec's delectable neck, and forced himself to look at his face.

Alec merely hooked an eyebrow and replied, “But you don't fight fair.”

Magnus chuckled and curled up beside Alec, soaking in warmth although his skin was still alight. Alec's heartbeat slowed against his chest, and the Nephilim's thumb lazily traced patterns into his side. Just before the two of them descended into sleep together, Magnus said, “Oh darling, neither do you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm currently working on a humorous piece for this pairing, and I don't think my brain can do laughter unless it does angst too, so I've separated this from the main body.


End file.
